The Empty Land Trilogy: Book I
by Jhomeboy
Summary: "Following the Dark Man." First story in this trilogy that came to mind suddenly when I was SERIOUSLY trippin. Slightly AU. Please, enjoy. LAST CHAPTER UP.
1. Holt

If you are reading this, it means that people have favored my sample chapter. Hoorah. Yeah. Oh boy. Ooglie-googlie. And for those of you who have read Stephen King's "Dark Tower" series, you will recognize this spoof automatically. Well, it's not a complete spoof ("hi, I'm Jhomeboy, and I'm a plagerholic" has been my phrase at meetings for two months now! Yay for me!), as I want to stay off the stuff for a while.

With this brand new story, I plan to take the conventional mode of writing fanfics above and beyond. At least, you know, for the Calvin and Hobbes section…that I know of…just enjoy. With each "book" (third of the trilogy) it will be composed of all the chapters of that "book." The next "book" will be a new story. Well, there it is, I'm done. Goodnight.

I do now own Calvin and Hobbes, but only characters Doubles.

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The Empty Land Trilogy

Book I: Following the Dark Man

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The Dark Man crossed the desert, and Holt followed.

A long and dark journey it had been. Holt followed the Dark Man over a span of two-thousand miles across the quickly wilting land, watching as the few still around to live die right before his eyes. Although his heart still weakened every time he saw it, he moved on. Death was nothing new to him lately. 

Holt was of the Old English, the Old Tongue. The Old Tongue had become foreign to him, ancient, forgotten, as were its ways and his ways. All that remains was his name, Holt, which meant "from the forest." Of course, not much forest remained anymore. 

When Holt had set out on his journey, not two years ago, his eyes had sparkled with the green of the forest he could not remember from his youth. On this day, the desert had dulled them to a blue-gray, but Holt did not care. This journey was not his own, and catching the Dark Man, catching Moss, would not finish it. Catching Moss would be a means to the end. 

As Holt bounded set a mild pace for the day, following the rapidly disappearing tracks of the Dark Man, he began to wonder what Moss's Double might be doing at this moment. In his world, he was known as Moses, but (at least from what he could gather from informed sources who had been on the other side) he was too dishonorable to be called Old English tongue for "saved by the Lord," and is why Moe fits him much better. And of course, the Moe's Double, the Dark Man, is the perfect example of the Dark Doubles. Opposites of their pleasant qualities (for Moe's stupidity makes great for tricking out of his bullying ways) and only double of their worst, a Dark Double of Moe was bad, but as fate would have it, he was also second wrung on the final ladder to the top, to the end of the destruction of this world. Moss was a very important man in this world.

As Holt came to a stop and began to check for the signs of fires from the night before (Moss always left trails, almost mocking Holt,) he began to wonder what his own Double might be doing. Holt came to a crouch and began to push his paw around in the dirt. What might be his Double be doing now? Protecting the one Holt has come this way to save? Protecting the one that, in the Old Tongue, meant "conquering?" Might Holt's Double be with the savior, be with Calvin this very instant?

Holt sniffed the ground again. The Dark Man had indeed been here. He frowned and scanned the horizon. Still no silhouette, still no shape of his prey that he had been hunting. He knew he had been approaching, and every day he found himself constantly stopping and searching for the signs he needed, a new habit he had taken up.

Nothing. Holt frowned and collapsed onto all fours again. It would be another long day. Nothing new there.

Still the Dark Man crossed the desert, and still Holt followed.


	2. Across the Desert

Disclaimer: In this chapter (and for this "book," really) I own but Holt and Moss, or any other Double of a Calvin and Hobbes character. Also I own Borden, who will be important in later books.

Ain't it funny how my latest ficks seem to stray farther and farther away from what an actual Calvin and Hobbes ficcie should be? Hee hee, yes it is…meh. That's what happens when you crank them out. But what I lack in quality I make up for in quantity. 

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Wake up, it's time to chase the Dark Man again. Time to help the world.

Shut up.

Let's see, sleep in the whole morning and let suffer this world and the world it connects with, or just bear the pain for an hour and be recognized as a hero.

5 more minutes, please.

Up.

The battle of body and mind was awarded to the gray matter once again. Holt reluctantly opened his eyes to find a fine dew had covered his fire, smothering it. Dew was a rarity in the desert, as was moisture to Holt. He greedily licked all he could before arranging his pack and finishing a brief meal of salted meat.

Holt began his trek today at a mild pace, walking against the sun, following the path of Moss, as he had done everyday for the past two years. Everyday he grew closer, and yet still no Moss was found. Holt began to think that he had not been real after all. 

At around No-Shadow time, Holt sought refuge in an abandoned house of the old days, one that had not been inhibited in maybe a year, and yet looked a hundred times older. Inside he left off his heat into the old walls and began to search the old cupboards for food. What he did find was something of a shock: a mummified body, warped from the heat and propped up in its chair, its grave. It gave off a sweet cinnamon smell that drove Holt to the opposite side of the house.

While searching old taps for water, Holt came across a rarity in this new age: a mirror. The glass reflected to Holt an image that for a moment shocked and startled him. His green eyes had gone a pale blue. His fur coat had grown shaggy and coarse, and the once vibrant stripes were now a dull black that almost faded into his old orange.

Holt took a paw to the mirror and shattered it. He took two pieces to his pack: a large one with few sharp edges for reflecting, and a smaller one for cutting.

Holt left the house, still as hungry, still as thirsty, and yet less heated, as he had intentionally planned. No-Shadow time has passed an hour ago, yet the majority of the heat was still to come. Holt sighed and checked his canteen again. Still as empty as when he had entered the house. Although he had tried to resist as long as possible, Holt took a small sip that had turned into a greedy gulp before he knew it. As Holt put back the canteen, he scolded himself for not staying grounded sanity wise, and then moved on.

Near Half-Shadow time in the afternoon, Holt thought he saw something, distant on the horizon, yet definitely a something to investigate. As Holt grew closer, he realized it was a trickle of smoke, maybe two miles away from him. The Dark Man.

Holt took into a run on all fours, running across dunes and large clumps of desert weed. The fire looked fresh, maybe only twenty minutes old. Holt may actually catch Moss this time. He had had too many close catches before to not finally be rewarded.

Over the last rise Holt bounded, and indeed he found the fire, still smothering, a nice fire made of the desert weed that grew abundantly. Holt searched frantically, looking for the cloaked man, and when finding nothing, realized that he had stupidly fallen for the trick Moss had left him. Again, Holt cursed himself for being stupid, and hid behind a dune to watch. After twenty minutes, Holt decided that Moss was not here, and came over the dune.

From the dune, Holt realized the fire (which had seemed elongate) had smothered, and the ashes of the finely placed desert weed had left Holt a message from Moss. Holt howled with pain and frustration, but realized there was no time for that now. He might still be able to follow Moss, maybe even get a scent of him. Holt turned and left the message.

The message: TIGER HOLT. 'FRAID I COULDN'T CHAT. LEAVE ME A MESSAGE AND WE CAN GET TOGETHER SOMETIME! CIAO. LET LONG LIVE BORDEN!


	3. Beasts

Disclaimer: I own Holt and Moss, seeing as they are really similar to several characters of this world.

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Along the path of Moss, Holt found more houses, found more mummified skeleton, and did find canned foods in basements and old walk-in ice boxes. In one house, he did indeed find some water, an old tap that spurted the wonderful Elixir of Life. He refilled his canteens before greedily turning his mouth on it. 

Holt, having refreshed, began the search for Moss. He knew he was close, he was so close. He could almost smell Moss, and at one time thought he had. It was an old musty smell, like a house that never seemed to be the same when one looked at it. Holt had heard of such houses. They were called _tirza_ houses, which in the Old Tongue meant "place of death."

Near No-Shadow time on this day, Holt found a rather splendid surprise: a cluster of old Desert Oaks. He climbed under the shadowy refuge that shouldn't be and settled down for a long nap. In his dreams, he had reoccurring nightmares of Moss and his Double, Moe. He had a dream where Holt's own Double, in the other world, had guided Calvin to the necessary outlet that would lead into Holt's world. Holt then dreamed of the monsters that plagued the land, the ones that Calvin was here to save them from. He dreamt of what Borden (a child's name, in Old Tongue, for a "boogeyman") might really look like. He dreamt of Calvin's own Dark Double, whom which Holt really did fear.

When Holt awoke, he mentally felt worse, but his body was ready for another long day of trudging the sands. Holt creaked, snapped his back, had a quick lunch of salted meat that he had dipped into his special _julin_, or fiery, sauce. It was a rarity, but he felt he much needed it.

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It was between Narrow-Shadow time and Late-Shadow time when Holt first saw them. There were only two, but still they posed a serious threat. Holt crouched down to a three-point stance when he saw over the dunes climbed the monsters. 

Holt had seen these before, but had never actually fought one, but of course, if he was to find Moss, much fighting with these strange beasts would be involved in the end. The first creature, the dominant male, looked strong and muscular yet reptilian his ways, and Holt suddenly realized why these creatures must scare Calvin so badly. The second creature came to, slightly smaller and lighter in color than the first, but also a male. Holt might be able to take one on by himself and his natural weapons, but alas, two (one of which a dominant male to boot) was too much alone. Which is why Holt reached into his pack for his two secondary weapons of choice.

The smaller male was the first to go down, a shot right to the face. The dominant male looked from his partner to the small creature holding the two guns, back to his partner, and decided that maybe it was indeed time to go. 

Holt put back his guns when he saw the second creature run. Holt nodded and looked at the carcass of the dead. Under normal circumstances, he would have cooked it, eaten what he could in one share, then salt and pack as much meat as he could carry in his backpack, and then see what the bones might make, maybe a spear or a nice necklace that could be traded in at a village. But alas, the dead monsters were not one to touch. Holt could smell its toxic flesh already deteriorating in the hot sun, hissing and giving an ozone smell. Holt turned around and toward his path again, leaving the carcass for the birds.

As Bill as his witness, Holt would catch Moss.


	4. The Hooded Man

This is probably the last chapter of Book I. It was short, but it was more of a introduction and synopsis than a true book, really. But I liked the format. Book II to follow soon. Oh yeah, I'm writing this with no pants on. Woo!

Disclaimer: I own Holt, Moss, and Borden. Calvin and whatnot belong to Bill Watterson. 

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On the 800th day of his search, Holt was finally rewarded. 

Holt had climbed over the first of a series of impossibly tall dunes, reaching over a thousand feet tall. Holt groaned and quickly scaled the first. From the top he realized he had reached the Range, as it was called from the travelers he remembered as a cub. Miniature mountains of sand that stretched along the desert in an impossibly long strand, reaching its dune fingers toward opposite horizons. It was only about a hundred across, but making it up one was a chore, and Holt recalled from the old travelers' tales is that many went into the Range and never came out, or if they did, they just weren't right. There was something odd about them, reeked of death or had an abnormality that people just didn't like. They would usually die afterwards. As Holt looked down his first perch, he already saw a littering of skulls and bones at the bottom of the dune.

Holt began to make his way down when, several dunes over, he saw a silhouette. Not an average silhouette neither. This shadow against the sun was cloaked, hooded, and nobody sane in the desert would be wearing a heavy cloak, let alone be in the Range. Holt had found Moss.

Holt leapt across, sprang with amazing might he had not known he possessed, and landed halfway down the next dune mountain. Instead of pausing to recoil from the sharp pains in his legs, he was up and sprinting again to the top, and then across, then up, the across. He hadn't even noticed when a mutant snake snapped at Holt and both of its heads had managed to clamp onto his leg momentarily. 

When Holt made it over to the sixth dune, he saw the silhouette was indeed looming closer, was not a shadow that moved with him. Holt leapt onto the seventh, and then to the eight, and then to Moss's. 

Holt, panting and wheezing like an elderly man, reached the top of the ninth dune, he looked into the face of Moss and saw, for a change, a benevolent smile. 

Moss, a Dark Double of Moe, opposed his own Double's pleasant qualities and improved on the bad. Holt, from what he knew of Moe, could see Moe had a lot of hidden pleasant qualities. Moss was tall and lean, making him fast and agile, whereas Moe was a great lummox. Moss, although born at the same time of Moe, yet in a different world, looked to be at least 24 years old. Moe's age was pleasant as he was blissfully stupid as a kid. Moss was worlds more intelligent than the average man. Moe's train of thought had derailed a loooooong time ago. However, they both had hated Calvin with a fiery passion, and that was even more amplified in this world. What kept Moss from striking down Holt right now was a mystery to him.

"Rise, young tiger, I needn't waste my time to look down to you when I talk. If I am to talk to you, young Holt of the East, Second in Command of the Rebel Alliance, I would wish to talk as equals." Indeed their were equals, Moss a lesser to Borden, and Holt a lesser/equal to Calvin, but Moss had more power than Holt. Moss had magic, and that was more powerful than a couple of guns and claws. But Moss lacked one thing that Holt did have: a fiery passion to complete what he set out to do.

"I imagine you have sought after me for answers, tiger. Here, you will find some, and find others to questions you did not know you have." Moss smiled again, but Holt saw through him. Saw deep in those eyes, under that those thin eyebrows that Moe did not possess that he was planning something, that he would strike like the snake he was. He was like a man that wears to much of the fragrance cologne to cover up the sweat and dirt he carries on him. 

"Why do you tell me this, when I plan on traveling back to the Alliance with the answers I have. Why betray Borden when the instant you give me those answers he will be here, and he will kill you? Why help Calvin?"

Holt thought he saw Moss's smile falter. "You did not think this was going to be easy, did you? I offer you a choice, tiger. Choose to leave with your life, no answers, and trek back to the Alliance all under a futile attempt. Or, listen to my answers, and then fall to my blade. Please choose, Holt."

Holt felt his tail twitch. "I'll take the answers." Moss smiled even wider, and this time there was nothing benevolent about it. "Excellent. Please, ask a question."

Holt sought deep into the back of his mind. At the beginning of his journey, he knew perfectly what he would ask Moss if he ever caught him, but in the last year it was in and out. 

Remembering one, Holt asked "Is Borden still in Harlan?" In the Old Tongue, Harlan was "from the army-land." Harlan was where Borden's forces were mounting, and he was reportedly secluded in, preparing the Final Attack to scourge the land finally. Not that there was much of it left to destroy. In past years, it was speculated upon whether he still remained. "The whereabouts of Borden are this: everywhere and nowhere at once. He is the underside of the crow that circles over the fresh kill of a child. He is the monster under the bed in the opposite world. He is the voice in the back of your that finally tells you to do it, to jump over the ledge, that the world would be better without you anyway. Physically, Borden is still in Harlan."

Moss's smiled widened, and he seemed to concentrate more on Holt's eyes than anything, enough for Holt's hand to start reaching slowly for his pack.

"How many are there?" Moss smiled like an adult humoring the kid who claims he just saw a monster under his bed. "How many what?" Holt's hand had grabbed the leather strap that bound the ends of his pack and started to slowly, subtly undo them. "How many of the creatures, how many of the monstrosities that you plagued upon this land like locusts? How many is he planning in the Final Attack?" Moss's smile faltered again. Although it was no surprise that the monster attack had gone up in recent years, Borden (and Moss, apparently) did not guess that the Alliance would tie that and the destruction of their world together. "I'm afraid you little Alliance will have time dealing with the three million 'monstrosities,' as you called them, that we have waiting for our command. Although two-thirds are in the deserts, doing their duties their Master has called upon them to do, we have over a million waiting in Harlan."

The pack was undone. Holt could feel Moss's smile breaking him down. It was powerful Dark Magic that Borden had given him, as suddenly Holt didn't feel like reaching for the gun like he was, and he didn't feel like putting a bullet in each of Moss's eyes after getting his information.

"W-what is Kevin planning? The Alliance knows he's up to something, but we are not sure of what." Holt said with a slight air of delirium. 

Moss's smiled turned into a bitter look of deep loathing, not for Holt, but for Kevin. It was no secret that Kevin was the real Second in Command, and was even more powerful than Borden, but he remained in his Third in Command spot. He was moving up steadily, and the Final Attack would be enough for Moss to get the boot.

"_Kevin_…is in the process of catching the little snot. He is constantly guarded by your Double, making it a chore to contact him. But he is indeed going to catch him, there is…no doubt there." he said, almost straining. Holt felt the Dark Magic wane in his hatred for Kevin.

"Well, Moss, believe it if you will, my task was but to find you for those three inquiries, and if you will excuse me, I will be-" 

"Need you forget our little _agreement_, tiger? You will die for the Alliance, but they will have not the information. You made a fool's decision, tiger. A fool's decision!" _Just Do It a , _as a strip of paper Holt had found one day (obviously from the other world, but Holt had wondered what it was doing here) said, was enough to make him pull out the revolver and put a hole between Moss's eyes.

There was enough Dark Magic to keep his brains from exiting through the back of his head, but not enough to save him from intense pain. "Oh Bill, oh my Bill I've been shot, you shot me you stupid jerk off! Oh Bill, save me, save-"

Moss raised his hand and a ball of flame shot from the palm past Holt. He gathered his pack and turned down the hill. Another burst of flame to his right made Holt turn and shoot again. A miss. Moss raised both hands (one horrible stained with blood) and conjured a powerful Dark Magic spell. Had not for the green light that suddenly entranced over Moss and disintegrated him, Holt would be but another skeleton in this land of waste.

From the spot where Moss stood was a whisper of smoke that dissipated, leaving Holt blank for a moment. _What happened?_

His question was answered as from the sky came a familiar whirring and a familiar shape. A shining red disc descended from the clouds and settled on the top of the dune, facing Holt.

"`lo, Holt. I trust you got your answers before I…you know." The glass bubble that graced the top of the disc opened and out popped a familiar figure that, in another world, would be referred to as Spaceman Spiff. But in this world, Holt knew him as Stafford, a name given to him when he first appeared with his secrets and advanced ways. In the Old Tongue, Stafford was "from the riverbank landing place." Stafford had been found by a river years before the war in his magical flying disc. He was dressed upon in a flowing robe of light blue and the yellow to make a queen bee jealous. Graced upon his head was his spectacles that were fused into a single, rectangular monocle that conveyed Stafford's emotions, despite the fact you could never see his eyes. After demonstrating his wonderful magic, questions were asked of his origin. "No comment" was his answer.

"Indeed I did, Stafford. I hail you for your timed rescue. I fear I hadn't the bullets to face his wicked magic, like yours." Stafford smiled, humoring the tiger. He always suspected that Holt knew he was not a magician, that it was merely technology, but around the public he referred to it as magic. He hadn't forgotten this in the desert apparently. 

"I realize you have a long trip back, so might I trouble you for a lift back to the Alliance? It won't take but a few minutes." Holt felt himself teeter a little. A few _minutes_? It had taken him two years to cross this desert, and still it went on beyond the horizon ahead of him. 

"If it isn't too much trouble. I have information that must reach the Alliance at once. Have they had any luck in contacting Calvin yet? Or harnessing the Ceremonial Box?" Stafford shook his head. "Damn. Two years and still no progress more than I made. When we get back I will retrieve Calvin myself. The Final Attack will be among us soon, I fear."

Stafford smiled and climbed into his craft. "The back isn't exactly comfy, but it won't take but a few minutes, right?" Holt nodded and got into the craft.

"I must say I have, for the first time since the start of this war, thought that we may actually win this thing."

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End Book I 


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